


Comfortably Numb

by Hufflepuss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hufflepuss/pseuds/Hufflepuss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One small conversation with a not so friendly friend causes Sansa to re-evaluate her current situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first fanfic on AO3. I had previously written one called The King of New Orleans on FF.net but had lost the desire to continue. I hope this doesn't happen. Comments and encouragement needed. Suggestions as well!

Worst effing day ever, she thought as she closed the medicine cabinet she had stumbled upon in one of the many bathrooms of the Lannister mansion. The peroxide did nothing to soothe her mood as the jagged cut on her left arm bubbled and burned. Why does he always have to drink so much?

Sansa was being asinine even asking herself that question. Joff always drank too much. He had the whole 5 years they had been together, and the especially the last two since he’d been fucking Margaery Tyrell. I guess it took a lot to constantly mistake someone else’s vagina for your fiancés. She wanted out. Really she did. She didn’t even care that he was sleeping with someone else. But, her parents were dead, family scattered, and trust fund tied up in court—thanks to the Lannisters. Where would she go? 

Just then the tell-tale knock of her only non-friend jostled her out of her thoughts. Putting the bottle back and shutting the door, she had only a second before Sandor Clegane crowded the space. 

The bathroom, like everything else in the Lannister house, was huge but so was Clegane. Standing 6’7” (she had drunkenly asked to measure him one night a few years ago and he had drunkenly acquiesced) and muscled like a bull, Sandor looked especially broody tonight. He was dressed simply unlike everyone here including her in an XXL Saints shirt from his former days as a player and a pair of jeans, but Sansa had found that tonight her eyes had drifted her muscles more than she would like. Sandor, had been sober for two years. Sansa on the other hand, HAD to drink, more often heavily, to get through nights like this. 

Tonight she was comfortably numb. 

“So, the Little Bird bleeds like the rest of us,” Sandor quipped as he walked over grabbing her arm to inspect the cut. 

Meeting his eyes, something it had taken her 2 years to do, Sansa quipped back, “You’ve seen me bleed often enough to know that, Sandy.” 

Though he hated her nickname for him, it was not hearing that that caused his hand to fly off of her arm like a scolded dog, she knew the alcohol must have numbed her manners as well. He never hit her, but the look of horror at her words and the anger found in his eyes reminded her that he still felt responsible for every cut. Every bruise. 

“You fucking know I would never hurt you, Sansa. It’s you who always chooses to stay.”

“I know, Sandor, I just…” She really didn’t know as she turned back to the mirror, the cool marble of the vanity touching her skin reminding her of the night, and how once again it’d be another wasted evening. Another wasted dress. 

Sansa was dressed in a short black, sleeveless shift dress. It barely covered her thighs and in 3 inch heels, it appeared not to cover them at all. A little more scandalous then she would have been comfortable in at one point in her early 20s, it accented her model body and reminded her she could still look like she had things together, even if she did not at all. 

“You just what, Sansa?” Sandor had snuck up on her and spun her around until she was pressed against his rock hard body and the vanity. “Too scared? Can’t leave him? Don’t want to?” 

The look in his eyes let Sansa know she was being challenged. They had been skirting around the topic ever since he offered to take her way over a month ago. And frankly, she had been avoiding him lately. Something had changed in their relationship, and she didn’t want to put a finger on it. Or rather she did. Yes, she most definitely wanted to put all her fingers on him. 

“That’s unfair, Sandor,” she challenged him right back with equal conviction. His eyes held hers, and the intensity of the stare was almost too much. “I’d leave with you tonight, if I thought I could. But we both know I am theirs.”

Sandor took a half step back before removing the distance between them. He leaned his face in just a breath away from hers as he placed an arm on either side, eyes looking her up and down. Sansa reveled in the newfound closeness. 

“So what now, you’re a piece of property? Just a porcelain Little Bird.” She didn’t know where he was going with this particular rant, but she did know that he seemed to be getting closer to her, if that was even possible. 

“I am NO ONES property, Sandor” She spat right back, raising her face to his. 

“Seems like you are to me, Sansa. It’s just a shame.”

“What is?”

“That you are not mine.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open as Sandor stepped back, a small smirk marring his scarred flesh even more. Her mouth still did not close as he retreated and opened the door. It was a good five minutes from his leaving before she could settle her nerves enough to join the rest of the part. 

What was that?

As she walked back downstairs through the throngs of people in her fiance’s house, a thought occurred to her, maybe she was property. But she hadn’t belonged to anyone, with anyone for a long time. And maybe, just maybe it was time she changed owners.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I am going to try and update once a week. More if I can, but I do want to finish this story and King of New Orleans. Your comments keep me going, and I will do a better job of replying!

**Sandor**

It wasn’t that Sandor _hated_ Jackson, but the Kroger parking lot wasn’t where he wanted to spend his afternoon. Sandor did _hate_ his brother and being in said parking lot only added to that. _Always fuckin’ late_. He had been waiting on Gregor for the last twenty minutes. 

Everyone knew that Gregor was the reason Sandor had a fucked up face, thanks to Joffrey’s drunken rant one night two years ago.  It was right when he and Sansa had started dating.  To impress upon her just how terrible his hound was, he went into a drunken _inaccurate_ story about how Gregor had held a blowtorch to Sandor’s face one night when he was all coked out.  This was obviously not true, as his whole damn face would be fucked, but the only person he had cared to share that with was the little bird.  _That_ was the night he had stopped drinking.

The little bird, _fuck¸_ he thought as another Kroger customer eyed his black 94 Bronco.  Joffrey’s drunkenness had given her a nasty little cut last night. Who the hell throws a champagne glass at their girlfriend and says that it’s a joke? _My prick employer that’s who._

Sandor was so incensed when he got up to the bathroom that he really wasn’t in control of his actions.  He was well aware of his own infuation— _obsession—_ Tyrion and Bronn had called it, with Sansa, but he was pretty sure after his near confession last night, and the stunt he pulled last month after another Joffrey incident, that she knew it too.  And damnit if she didn’t dangle herself like a piece of bacon in front of Joff’s dog after the bathroom last night.  _I swear she had her eyes on me until Joff made Boros take her home so he could fuck Margaery._

A loud bang on his windshield woke Sandor from his reverie, and there stood Gregor. Gregor was 4 years older at 35 and oddly enough, 4 inches taller than Sandor. He had their deceased father’s look.  Boxy face, completely masculine jawline and forehead, with short buzzed blonde hair and cropped beard.  Sandor on the other hand had his mother’s dark skin and features, and he had been told by many a drunken stripper that “ _if your face weren’t so fuckin’ burned, you’d be hot.”_  Just what every burned fella’ wanted to be—hot. Sandor didn’t mind as he respected the honesty, and he didn’t give a fuck when he told them, “ _and if you were really pretty, you wouldn’t be taking a $50 to suck my dick.”_ Sobriety had put an end to that too.

“Pup, still got these piece of shit car, I see”

“Well, we can’t all have Yukon Denalis,” Sandor said as he nodded towards Gregor’s new ride.

“Saddled yourself to the wrong Lannister anyway,” Gregor replied.  His smile not quite reaching his eyes, but it never did. Gregor atleast was consistent.

“Keys, Pup.” Gregor demanded. “I’m not going to lie and say I’d rather stay and chat with you, but one of my regular fucks just got off her shift at Danny’s.”

Sandor opened his glove compartment and handed Gregor the manila envelope, containing the deed to their childhood home and set of keys.

“Thanks, Pup.  See you at home,” Gregor said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and turned to get into his car.

“Fuck you Gregor,” Sandor spat. “That shithole has never been my home, and I sure as hell haven’t been holing up in that house of horrors these past two years while you went through every whore and drug dealer in New Orleans.”

_That stopped Gregor in his tracks_

_“_ Well, I’m back Sandor.” Gregor said, standing to his full height of 6’11. “And I think I’ll tell Joffrey its time you got a muzzle. It seems you’ve not only found your teeth, but you’ve also been drooling over your master’s bone.”

_Fuckin’ Imp spouting off in the strip clubs, again._

_“_ Don’t worry, little brother. Everyone knows you’re a loyal dog.”

This time Sandor didn’t have a response as he watched Gregor drive away.

 

**Sansa**

La Brioche was Sansa favorite place in Jackson.  It had just recently opened, but Sansa felt like she had been coming here every day. The macaroons were amazing, and they had a great tea selection.  Sansa loved all things lemon and lemongrass.  And boy, did she need a tea today!

 _Last night was….unexpected_.

She wasn’t surprised this morning that she sported a new cut from Joffrey, his lame attempt at showing everyone that Sanda couldn’t catch for shit.  _He is no longer a pitcher at Ole Miss._ But he wouldn’t hear that from her. In these last two years she’d gotten really good at saying things under her breath. But she was surprised by the Hound’s speech in the bathroom and her own unwillingness to let it go the rest of the night.  _I was practically hounding him_.

But God, for the first time in what felt like forever, Sansa woke up… _looking forward to something_ , which is exactly why she found herself perched at La Brioche at 6 p.m., instead of her normal 9 a.m. by the front window instead of the back corner.  Sansa knew that Sandor ran around Fondren each day after work, as she had overheard him talking to Bronn about workout regiments. 

 _Subtle but sexy, that’s the tone_ , Sandor repeated to herself for the umpteenth time.  She had spent the better part of an hour picking out her favorite mint green DVF wrap dress and applying and re-applying her makeup until it had that natural glow she’d perfected. 

 _5:48._ In 12 minutes she’d have to leave whether Sandor sighting or not. 

“Sansa, I don’t mean to rush you, but it’s Wendesday, and I am leading Bible study tonight,” Jeyne said from behind the counter.

Jeyne had actually become a sort-of-friend to Sansa as of late. She was close to Sansa’s age, 27, and she too was not from here.  Jeyne was actually from Argentina and had lived in France where she learned her trade before coming to Jackson to take care of her ailing great-aunt. 

“Oh, I know Jeyne,” Sansa signaled to her holding her glass up to the barrista.  Sansa always had to add ice.  It was nearing October in Mississippi, but it was still hitting 90 degrees every afternoon.

_5:50_

_Shit. Where is he?_

Sansa started putting her things away—iphone and worn copy of _Emma—_ when she noticed him.

Having grown up riding horses in the Mississippi Delta, Sansa knew a fine specimen when she saw one.  And that was exactly what Sandor Clegane was—a fine specimen of manhood.  He had a slight sheen of sweat on him and was again rocking a Saints tshirt with black under armour shorts.  In a few seconds he’d be right by her window.

_Showtime_


End file.
